


Sometimes the Answer Is Three

by SnowyWolff



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Break Up with Unnamed Character, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nyotalia, OT3, aph yuri week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 23:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15896142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowyWolff/pseuds/SnowyWolff
Summary: In a world where your soulmate is supposed to complete you, Madeline and Ingrid feel as if there is something is missing. The feeling continues to persist until they meet Chiara and find that sometimes the universe should really just shut up.





	Sometimes the Answer Is Three

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Not so much a soulmate AU as it is made out to be. I wanted to write a twist on the concept, and what’s better than an OT3 to break it? So yeah, it’s mentioned, but also really insignificant.
> 
> Names:  
> Ingrid - Nyo!Prussia  
> Madeline - Nyo!Canada  
> Chiara - Nyo!Romano

Your soulmate was supposed to complete you. Many people still spoon fed the notion to the world, advertised the beauty of it, pretended that it was everything a person needed. It was a fairy tale made real.

The reality was much more grim. Divorce rates between people with soul marks was rising, more and more people were born without a mark and there were even those that no longer followed the handwriting underlining their fate, instead opting to settle with the person they had fallen in love with normally, with no strings attached.

Madeline wasn’t entirely sure where she stood on the issue. On the one hand, she loved Ingrid Beilschmidt, the woman whose name curled around her wrist, without a doubt. On the other hand, they both felt as if something was missing.

They didn’t know how to pinpoint it. It was as if a gap existed in their hearts, space for someone else to fill. For a while they thought it was the universe’s way of telling them they needed to have a child, but Madeline didn’t want any and Ingrid felt their money could be better invested in something like canaries. So, they were back to square one.

It was not even that their relationship was stranding because of it, but the thought that something was _wrong_ was lurking in the backs of their mind. Something was wrong and they didn’t know what. They had sat down, discussed every little thing about their relationship, about previous relationships, quirks, peeves, annoyances, everything. But nothing had rolled out as the answer.

Not until they met Chiara.

Chiara Vargas, better known to the world as Cassandra Laganà, was the granddaughter of a well-renowned actor, and known very well herself for being a well-renowned model. Sometimes, she was an actress as well, appearing as a small roll along with her grandfather. According to the gossip magazines, it was because of their close familial relationship; according to Chiara, it was because her grandfather had begged her, for how else would they ‘spend some quality time together? Come spend time with your Nonno, Chiara, don’t you love me?’

Really, Chiara wouldn’t have been anyone either Madeline, an accountant at some no-name company, or Ingrid, owner of her own little bar in a slightly sketchy neighbourhood, would have just met on a stormy day huddled underneath a very leaky storefront with liquid mascara running down her cheeks and hiding barely contained sobs behind a manicured hand in the middle of the night.

But Madeline had, though she hadn’t realized at the time. Her instincts had simply kicked in, had ushered the woman to Ingrid’s bar that her girlfriend had just been closing, had sat her down, made her hot chocolate as Ingrid dug up towels from their apartment above, and listened to her.

Turned out she had just broken up with her boyfriend because he had tried to convince her to take matching tattoos to pretend they were soulmates. It had disgusted Chiara so much that she had yelled at him. He had yelled back, calling her less than flattering terms for her lack of belief in destiny (this she spat with such vehemence that Madeline didn’t stop Ingrid from adding a shot of rum to Chiara’s chocolate milk before she brought it over) and had then started digging up other flaws in Chiara’s character. It had all-around devolved so badly that Chiara had stormed out, at which point Madeline had found her in the rain.

“It’s ridiculous!” Chiara emphasized her point by slamming a fist onto the bar. “He can’t just—just demand that of me because he thinks it’s some great…  _publicity_ stunt!”

Ingrid hid a snort by ducking underneath the bar to get herself a coke from the mini fridge. “How dare he,” she said, pouring Madeline a glass of wine as well.

“He just—” Chiara grasped for something more to add, found nothing and took a large sip from her drink. “Ugh!”

Madeline reached out to pat her arm as Chiara laid her head down on the bar with a defeated sigh. She didn’t exactly know what to say to comfort her, but Chiara seemed fine with airing her heart for now. She certainly hadn’t stopped talking for the better part of an hour.

“It’s probably a good thing you got out now,” Ingrid said, placing a bowl of nuts in front of Chiara before taking a fistful herself. “People like that you gotta avoid.”

Chiara scoffed. “Four years. I spent four years with that man. And it all amounted to nothing because he is obsessed with soulmates even though he nor I have one. Or that apparently, for four years, he’s only been with me for the publicity since my personality is so horrendously awful.” She stared at the grain in the bar top for a moment before shaking her eyes. “Jesus Christ, I can’t even remember why I liked him.”

“Eh.” Ingrid slid in the other seat next to Chiara. “If it’s any consolation, I think you’re great.” Chiara snorted, but Ingrid continued, “And now you’ve got some perspective, so you can go ahead and break up with him. He sounds like a total dick to me.”

Madeline hummed in agreement. “You should do what makes you happy, and be with someone that makes sure of that. You deserve to be happy, Chiara.”

“What a cruel trick to play though,” Chiara sighed, laying her head down in her arms on the bar. “The universe gives some a mark to find the supposed love of their live, only to find out that it isn’t the be-all and end-all.”

“You can say that again.” Ingrid stared out the windows, though there was hardly anything to see with the rain assaulting the glass, deforming the streetlights to unrecognizable blobs.

Madeline reached out to touch Ingrid’s arm with a soft smile. Ingrid took her hand, squeezed it before dropping it back to the bar, her thoughts still occupied with other things. Madeline could guess what they were, first and foremost the thought of that gap they felt, the hole the universe had left them with. It wasn’t that hard to guess; it was mostly on Madeline’s mind too.

They drank in silence, Ingrid eventually placing the bottle of rum on the counter for them to pour a couple of shots. Madeline only did one because she knew better and felt that someone had to stay sober enough to drag Ingrid back upstairs. She eventually took the bottle away when Chiara an Ingrid devolved into a mess of slurred cusses, which were mostly directed toward the state of their society.

“No, Maddie,” Ingrid mumbled, reaching unsteadily for her girlfriend. She missed, though Madeline caught her arm before she could fall off the stool and plant her pretty face in the hardwood floor. Madeline had just about gotten the bloodstains out from the previous bar fight.

Madeline shook her head as she returned the bottle to its perch, then squeaked when she was pulled onto Ingrid’s lap. A wet kiss was pressed against her neck and Madeline snorted.

“Maddie, Maddie, Maddening Maddie,” Ingrid sighed.

“You are so drunk, Ingrid.” Madeline removed her wandering hands from her waist and stood, tucking a curl behind her ear. She felt a little self conscious in front of Chiara, but she was distracted by her phone, an indecipherable expression on her face. “Chiara?”

The Italian (she had blurted that out somewhere after her third shot) blinked, glanced up at Madeline and then quietly showed the phone to her. It held a message addressed to a Cassandra that all but begged her to come home because he basically didn’t want to be responsible for her kidnapping and death.

“Your boyfriend? He sounds charming.” Madeline pulled a face. “If he’s normally like that, I’m surprised you held out with him as long as you did.”

Chiara nodded, turning the phone back to herself, reread the message and scowled. “Honestly, me too.”

“Also, who’s Cassandra?”

“I am.”

“I thought you were Chiara?” Ingrid wondered, leaning across her shoulder to read the message as well.

“I am, too.” Chiara paused, scratched her head and placed her phone on the counter with a sigh. “I don’t want to go back.”

Madeline, deciding that they would unravel the mystery when she felt less tipsy and Ingrid didn’t look like she was falling asleep on Chiara’s shoulder, made a decision that she wasn’t sure she would come to regret or not. But Chiara was a woman in need and Madeline had nursed enough broken birds back to full health with her brother to feel that instinct of protection descend onto her. Besides, the woman was friendly, a little loud maybe, and there was something about her that drew Madeline in.

“You can sleep here,” she offered. “We have a guest bedroom. And you can think about this more tomorrow, rationally hopefully.”

Chiara looked at her, seemed to weight her options, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

So Madeline wrapped an arm around Ingrid and hauled her up the stairs with Chiara following. Dumping her girlfriend on the bed for now, she lead Chiara to the guest room. It was small and simple, really only there for the off-chance that either of their brothers would come to visit.

“I’ll get you something to sleep in,” Madeline said, turning on her heel.

Ingrid had passed out on the bed, not having bothered to remove her shoes or anything. Madeline decided to undo her sneakers for now, Ingrid not even stirring as she tossed them into the corner. Then, she turned back to the closet, deciding that one of Ingrid’s oversized sweater would work and a pair of jogging pants she had stashed somewhere in the back.

Returning to the guest room, she paused when she walked in because Chiara was leaning with one hand on the desk, bent over as she undid the clasps of her shoes. Madeline wasn’t entirely certain why she had paused, not when her girlfriend was asleep two rooms over, but there was something… attracting her to Chiara.

She was drunk, she thought, smiling as she placed the clothes on the bed. She was drunk and stupid and needed to go to bed right now.

Chiara brushed her hair back as she kicked off her shoes, holding up the old sweater with a disdainful expression. Madeline realized belatedly she had grabbed Ingrid’s Christmas sweater depicting a Santa Clause pole dancing, but Chiara was already hooking her fingers underneath her shirt and lifting it over her head, so she supposed there were no take-backs.

Madeline excused herself before she could be caught staring, then wondered what the hell was wrong with her _again._ Ingrid was drooling into her pillow and Madeline took a moment to appreciate her. Just because she thought Chiara was attractive, and there was nothing wrong with admitting that, didn’t mean she didn’t love Ingrid anymore.

Crawling into bed beside her after changing into her own pyjamas, throwing the covers over her and making sure Ingrid was tucked in as well, she closed her eyes and hoped that whatever spell the red wine had put her under would wear off when morning came.

***

It did and it didn’t. The morning did dispel some of the fog of the day before, but there was still that unknown attraction that Madeline was uncertain of how to proceed with. But those worries were quickly displaced to the back of her mind as Chiara asked them once more for help with her ex because, as Chiara put it, there was no way in hell she was ever getting back together with that asshole in a million years.

The problem was that the man was currently residing in _her_ apartment and refused to leave no matter how many texts she sent telling him to fuck off. He wanted to talk things over, and Madeline tried to encourage her into doing that as well, but Chiara said that they had done enough talking the night previously.

“I just want him out of my house, out of my _life_ ,” she said, throwing back her coffee and standing up with a purpose. She looked slightly ridiculous in the terrible red and green Christmas sweater and viciously clashing blue jogging pants, but her anger was real enough.

Somehow both Madeline and Ingrid ended up accompanying Chiara back to her apartment, and it was then that they realized there was still a mystery surrounding Chiara.

For starters, the apartment building Chiara lived in was located in the richest neighbourhood. A man in a uniform opened the door, bidding a good day to Miss Laganà which Chiara returned absently. The lobby appeared to be made of marble, gold accents filling what nooks and crannies there were. It was tacky and filthily rich, a red carpet leading to the elevators, quieting the noise from Chiara’s stilettos.

Madeline hugged her cardigan a little closer to her body, feeling severely underdressed and severely our of her league. Ingrid wrapped an arm around her side, sensing her discomfort immediately. But her eyes were on Chiara, both curious and calculating.

Chiara’s floor only had two doors, not quite opposite of each other. Chiara stopped in front of the one on the left, patting down her pockets for her keys. Madeline wondered if they should ask now what was up with Chiara, but they never got the chance before the Italian unlocked her door, schooling her expression into something that spelt doom with capital letters.

“Cassandra!” A man immediately stepped into the hallway of the apartment, spreading his arms and wearing a warm, yet tight smile. “Darling, I knew you’d come—”

“This is my house, asshole,” she snapped, pushing past him.

Ingrid walked after her, tugging Madeline along as well, ducking past the man with a gleeful grin. Sometimes it worried Madeline a little how much Ingrid enjoyed conflict, both observing it as well as causing it.

The man stared at them, frowning. “Cassandra, who are—”

“My friends.” Chiara had vanished into what Madeline assumed to be the bedroom. She returned with a handful of clothes, throwing them across the room at the man’s feet. “They’re helping me evict you.”

“Evict? Love, what in Heaven’s name are you going—Cassandra!” He stepped around the small mountain of clothes Chiara was heaping at his feet. He followed her into the bedroom, so Ingrid and Madeline followed him. “Look, if you’re still angry—”

Chiara laughed, high-pitched and fake, swivelling toward him as she shook an incredibly expensive gold watch in his face as a warning. “Angry? I’m furious! I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about our relationship and honestly it wasn’t all that great to begin with, so I’m breaking up with you.”

The man, Madeline felt just a little bad for not knowing his name, stared as Chiara threw every male article of clothing she could find on the bed. “Cassandra, you can’t be serious.”

“Can’t I?” This was followed by Chiara upending a drawer of underwear on the floor, holding eye contact as she did. “Grab your suitcases, pack your stuff and get out before I open the window and give you a hand.”

“You’re insane,” he said as he backed out of the room. “God, you want to ruin our perfect relationship over—over soulmate tattoos?”

“Perfect,” Chiara snorted. “Love, if you think that’s the sole reason I’m breaking up with you, our relationship was hardly that.”

He threw his arms in the air, exasperated, but he seemed to have given up. He vanished momentarily before returning with two giant suitcases of such high quality that Madeline felt a little filthy standing next to them. Ingrid tugged Madeline back to the living room when the man started packing his bags, falling down on the smooth leather couch with a sigh. Madeline sat a little more properly, afraid of ruining anything.

It took about half an hour for everything to be packed and for the man to stand in the doorway, giving Chiara one last pitiful look. “Listen, Cassandra, when you regain your senses, call me.”

Chiara gave him a look that conveyed much more than a simple ‘no way in hell’ and slammed the door close in his face. Stalking back to the living room, she collapsed in a large armchair with a sigh, touching her forehead tiredly.

Ingrid waited about thirty seconds before lazily addressing the new elephant in the room. “So, Cassandra Laganà, huh?”

Chiara breathed sharply, giving them a guilty look. “Stage name. Chiara Vargas is my real name.”

“I see. Cute.” Ingrid glanced behind her, out of the giant windows and shook her head. “Jesus Christ.”

“Please don’t go spreading it around,” Chiara asked softly, running a hand down her face. “There is some part of my life I’d like to keep private.”

“Nah, don’t worry,” Ingrid said with a grin. “You’re loaded! I wouldn’t say no to some hush money.”

Madeline cut in, pinching Ingrid’s thigh as she leaned forward to smile at Chiara. “There’s no need at all. Your secret is safe with us, Chiara.”

“Thank you.” Chiara paused, brushing her hair back. “For last night, today, and that.”

Ingrid shrugged. “We didn’t do much.”

“You offered a place to sleep to a complete stranger and then accompanied said stranger to her home to evict her ex. I feel you did a lot for that stranger.”

“You’re not so much a stranger anymore,” Ingrid said, winking. “A woman who can drink half of a bottle of rum with me is a friend in my book.”

Chiara laughed, hiding it behind her hand with a shake of her head. “I feel I should pity you, Madeline.”

“Don’t. I asked her out,” Madeline sighed, ignoring Ingrid’s offended little noise.

“You love me,” Ingrid said, grinning cheekily.

“Sometimes.”

Ingrid turned to Chiara. “Anyway, I’m going to give you my phone number and we’re gonna stay in touch, ‘kay? I’m not passing up this opportunity of meeting a celebrity.” She stood, crossed the room and sat down on the armrest of Chiara’s chair as she tapped through her phone to find her own number.

“You really don’t have to,” Madeline said as Chiara reached for her own phone on the table. “Ingrid, remember that discussion we had about forcing yourself into people’s lives?”

Just as Ingrid began to whine, Chiara placed a hand on her knee to quiet her. “No, no. It’s quite all right. I…” she paused, blushed and coughed before she mumbled, “I don’t have many friends and you have been very nice to me, so I’d be happy to… to.”

“Wonderful!” Ingrid leaned close to Chiara to dictate her number and for some reason Madeline had the weird notion they looked good together. And not in the, God, Chiara was so gorgeous (though she was) and Ingrid would be better off with her (debatable due to Madeline’s distinct impression both could easily devolve into fighting), but in the, Lord, Chiara was a wonderful person and so was Ingrid and Madeline wouldn’t mind having both of them lying in her bed, preferably naked.

Oh.

That… could prove interesting.

***

Months passed and their relationship with Chiara improved. Not in the way that got them into VIP parties or model shows or into film sets, though Ingrid really wanted to, but in a much more private way.

Chiara had told them before she didn’t have many personal friends, and even less friends who knew her real name and the implications that real name held. Those implications did Chiara nothing, but the news would have a field day digging dirt when they heard of Chiara being the illegitimate child of some Spanish fisherman and not actually blood-related to _the_ Romulus Laganà as advertised.

Not that her family cared all that much. Sure, it had caused the divorce between her parents (who were soulmates and just cemented the idea to Chiara how utterly dumb the concept was) when her (not-)father had found out when she was fifteen, there were a lot of things brought to the table. But she still spoke to him, went on holiday to Italy and toured the country to see everyone, and was on really good terms with her half-sister. Nothing had changed but her parent’s relationship to her. The only thing added was the fisherman in Spain with whom she had accidentally gotten in contact with when she had gone on holiday to Spain once. He didn’t understand much of the Internet, her career or her life, but he sent her cards with pictures of him or the ocean and she did the same of her life. It was nice.

But only Ingrid and Madeline knew. They knew and swore secrecy over schnapps and frosted peppermint cake, having their own private little Christmas because Madeline’s family was in Texas, Ingrid’s in Germany, Chiara’s in Italy, and they were all in Canada.

So, Chiara became an integral part to their life. While she would occasionally be away on trips around the world for fashion shows and movies and whatever else was thrown at her by her manager, she would always come visit them the moment she returned. She started eating dinner at their place, sometimes stayed over during the weekends, fit in so well during movie night that she fell asleep on the couch with her head on Madeline’s shoulder and Ingrid sprawled partially across her lap.

And all the while, Madeline’s thoughts returned to how Chiara _belonged_ with them. Every day, every moment spent with the Italian only gave way to the notion, made Madeline’s fingers itch, her heart jump. She wanted Chiara like she wanted Ingrid.

She loved Chiara like she loved Ingrid.

So she sat her girlfriend down one evening, two years down the line, wondering how the hell she was going to make this sound appealing and not hurt Ingrid in the process.

“I’ve been thinking,” she started and winced because that immediately came out wrong. The alarm on Ingrid’s face told her as much and she quickly reached out to touch her hand. “No, no! Not like that! Oh, God, no, I’m not breaking up with you.”

Ingrid breathed, lowering the hand that had been reaching for her heart in horror on top of Madeline’s. “Oh. Oh, okay. Jesus, Maddie.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I just—I have no idea how to even explain myself,” Madeline sighed.

“Secret children I should be aware of?” Ingrid waggled her eyebrows, grinning as Madeline swatted at her shoulder. “Secret second family? Secret lover?” She gasped, so dramatically that Madeline snorted. “Secret pets?”

“How is secret pets worse than secret lover?”

“Because you keep saying no to my proposal of getting some canaries!”

“Ingrid, you work full-time. I work full-time. Those poor birds would be up here all alone all day.”

Ingrid slumped forward, placing her head in her palm sulkily. “Yeah, I guess.”

“But no, no secret pets. No secret anything. Just…” Madeline stared at the table, bit her lip, then decided to just get it over with. But carefully. “Okay, so, don’t take this the wrong way. I love you, I really do, but… but you’re not the only person I’m in love with.”

Blinking, Ingrid slowly lifted her head. She opened her mouth, closed it again and then slammed her hands, palms open, on the table, excitably leaning forward, eyes positively sparkling. “You as well?”

Madeline stared, back hurting a little from the way she had tried to bend away from Ingrid, but pausing at her response. “What?”

“Yeah! I’ve been thinking, right? Like, Chiara fills that space we were so worried about, Maddie! I—my heart—you know?”

She did know. What Ingrid was describing was exactly what she had been thinking. So, she nodded, a little dazed because Ingrid was still talking, trying to narrow down the feeling better, but she finally paused when Madeline squeezed her hand.

Softly, carefully, Madeline voiced the other issue on their newfound, shared realization. “Do you think Chiara would… would want to be, uh, with us?”

Ingrid settled back in her chair with a thoughtful hum, going for a half-shrug. “I mean, there’s no harm in asking, right?”

***

They sat Chiara down a week later. It felt stiff and official and it made Ingrid so uncomfortable that she stood up again to retrieve a bottle of red (Italian) wine from the bar. When she reappeared in the living room with three glasses, a corkscrew and the bottle, Madeline was holding Chiara’s hands in her lap and whispering something to her. It made Ingrid pause, admire and hope that they weren’t ruining this. She hoped this could continue, grow, evolve. God, she wanted.

Madeline, on the other hand, was nervous. Nervous and jittery and thank God Ingrid had returned with the wine.

Chiara had picked up on the strange mood, on the all-around strange atmosphere. Ingrid sat down on her other side, almost spilling the wine as she poured it, and if that wasn’t telling that something was up, then Chiara would have to reevaluate her opinions on the German.

“You guys are freaking me out,” she said, meant more as an ice-breaker, but apparently coming across as a winter storm.

Madeline froze up, cheeks burning pink, before she snatched the glass Ingrid offered her, hiding her mouth behind it. Ingrid’s hands shook possibly more, so Chiara took the bottle from her and poured her own glass, glancing between the two woman for an explanation, preferably now.

“Well,” Madeline started, reaching up to fit a curl behind her ear. “Ingrid and I… have had a, um—it’s not really a problem, but it kind of still is… a problem.”

“Yeah,” Ingrid added with a nod, placing her already empty wine glass on the table again. It was a skill and a curse, the speed by which Ingrid throws back alcohol, but there were more pressing matters. “Like, you know how Maddie and I are soulmates, right?” Chiara nodded slowly, frowning a little, but waiting for them to finish whatever this was. “And Maddie and I are really happy, but uh, well, we figured, that we, um—”

“Could be happier,” Madeline finished for her.

“Yeah, yeah.” Ingrid laughed, glanced at the bottle of wine before looking helplessly at Madeline.

And Madeline, having handled the confessing of feelings already once before, took the hint, took an equally deep breath, and plunged in.

“Frankly, to put it simply, Ingrid and I are in love with you. As well as with each other. Because you, well, you fill that little problem we had. The little problem of the feeling that there was something missing in our lives. And that turned out to be… you.”

Chiara just sat very still for a very long moment. Then she frowned, but over the months Ingrid and Madeline had become very good at reading them, at differentiating them, and this was definitely a frown of confusion. It was her I-Am-Thinking-Because-You-Said-Something-That-Kinda-Makes-Sense-But-Also-What frown. That wasn’t discouraging, per se.

“You’re… in love with me?” She glanced between them, trying to decipher, to unravel… _whatever_ this was. “Both of you? But—I—How?”

Ingrid shrugged, relaxing marginally in the couch cushions now that there seemed no immediate danger of hurtling glass. “Because you’re cute and really sweet behind all those equally cute little frowns, but you’re also hot and fiery and just—I really want to kiss you sometimes.”

Sputtering Chiara turned from Ingrid to Madeline, hoping that maybe she could make sense of it, perhaps in better terms. All Madeline had to offer was a weak smile and a pat on her knee as she said, “I think you’re such a wonderful person, Chiara, and I would just love to be able to love you. To have you be part of our family.”

Chiara fell back against the couch cushions, hiding her face her hands, letting out a soft little whine when Ingrid traced a nail across her arm. “But you—you’re—” She made a frustrated noise. The one she made when she couldn’t find the words she needed in English. “You already have each other, don’t you? I—how would I…”

“Yeah, well, we want you too,” Ingrid said and leaned a little closer to whisper, “We’re greedy like that.”

Madeline reached across Chiara to pinch Ingrid, placing a soothing hand on burning skin as she did so. “We just wanted you to know. And haven’t we long since discussed the whole soulmate business? If you want to, if… if you maybe have feelings for us as well, we could make this work between the three of us. I’m sure.”

Chiara breathed out, lowered her hands as she did so and glanced from Madeline to Ingrid to her hands now lying in her lap. She looked incredibly flustered, a little uncertain, but behind all of that there was a dash of happiness, the hint of excitement.

“It would take some getting used to,” Chiara said softly, letting Madeline take one of her hands while placing the other on Ingrid’s thigh. “But I think… I think I might be in love with you two too.”

Ingrid’s grin was almost feral as she leaned forward to press a warm kiss to Chiara’s cheek. Madeline giggles when Chiara blushed fiercely, but raised Madeline’s hand to her lips and kissed it shyly. Madeline reached for Ingrid’s chin with her free hand and kissed her lips softly.

Yeah. They would figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. I will go down with this trio.
> 
> Chiara’s ex is whomever you want him to be because he doesn't matter ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
